14. Cora
Chapter fourteen
Cora
T he pounding in my head is relentless, each throb like a hammer to my skull. I pry my eyes open, but the spinning room forces them shut again.
Am I still drunk?
Nathan and I didn’t leave the bar until two, after drinking far more than we should have for a weeknight. It’s been years since I stayed out that late—or had that much fun . Nathan’s a blast to be around, undeniably cute, but there’s no spark between us. No butterflies in my stomach, no heat coursing through me… not like a certain tall, dark, and infuriating CEO. The image of his smug face tightens the vice around my temples, intensifying the pain.
What the hell was I thinking? Getting wasted on my first day is a new low.
I drag myself into the kitchen, hoping that coffee might perform some miracle on my sorry state. Dad and Leo are finishing breakfast, both looking annoyingly bright and chipper.
“Morning, Momma!” Leo’s cheerful voice cuts through my throbbing head like a knife, and I wince, forcing a smile that’s more like a grimace.
“Morning, baby,” I croak, reaching for the mug of coffee Dad’s holding out.
“Good night?” Dad’s smirk says it all.
“Yeah, until now,” I mutter, taking a cautious sip. The strong, black coffee offers a small relief as it slides down my throat.
Dad chuckles. “Ahh, to be young again. Leo, get your things, pumpkin. Grandpa’s taking you to kindy,” he calls, his voice at an unnecessarily loud volume.
“Dad!” I snap. “For the love of God, you’re killing me here!” I shoot him a glare, rubbing my temples as if that will somehow lessen the pain.
“Sorry, darling,” he whispers with exaggerated softness.
As they leave, I consider how I’m going to survive the day when just standing here is a challenge.
I manage to make myself presentable—or at least somewhat less of a disaster. My white silk blouse is neatly tucked into my high-waisted pants, and I throw on a blazer for good measure, hoping it’ll help me look more put-together than I feel.
Staggering into the building, the world sways. If I can reach my desk without passing out or puking, I might make it through the day.
I spot Nathan in the lobby, looking every bit as wrecked as I feel. His hair is a mess, stubble darkens his jawline, and his tie is hanging loose around his neck.
“Well, you look like shit,” he jokes with a weak chuckle as I approach.
“You aren’t exactly fresh as a daisy yourself,” I retort, eyeing his untucked shirt.
Before he can respond, a familiar, deep voice booms behind us, making my blood run cold.
“You both look horrible.”
Nathan and I spin to see James standing there, his gaze flicking between us with a mix of disdain and irritation. We must look like we’ve just rolled out of bed together.
Great, he already thinks I’m a hooker. Now, the office slut.
I close my eyes briefly, wishing I were anywhere but here. When I reopen them, James is staring directly at me, his expression unreadable.
“Both of you—my office in ten minutes,” he snaps. The elevator dings, and he storms inside and jabs the button. “Get the next one.”
As the doors close, Nathan grunts “fuck,” and I can’t help it—I burst out laughing. It must be the remnants of alcohol still flowing through me, because nothing about this situation is funny.
We manage to stifle our laughter as we step into the next elevator, both of us sobering up—mentally, at least—as we prepare for the inevitable lecture. We quickly stash our things at our desks and head to the top floor, determined not to make our situation worse by being late.
The top level of the building is a different world from the floors below. Where the lower levels are warm and collaborative, this floor is all business—pristine white marble, glass offices, and sleek, black furnishings that scream corporate efficiency. It’s intimidating, to say the least.
Nathan approaches the receptionist, a woman in her late sixties with perfectly coiffed gray hair and flawless makeup that puts my feeble contouring skills to shame. She’s dolled up in a bright red pantsuit, looking every bit the picture of competence and poise. In comparison, Nathan and I look like something the cat ate and regurgitated.
“Hey, Portia, we’re here to see James as requested,” he says, flashing that killer smile of his. It’s amazing to watch—that smile would charm the pants off just about anyone. “This is Cora. She started yesterday,” he adds, nodding in my direction.
Portia smiles warmly, a hint of pink coloring her cheeks. “James is expecting you both. Go on through.”
“Thanks,” I manage, returning her smile, though it feels like my cheeks might crack from the effort.
Why is everything so painful this morning? And why the hell are my cheeks sore?
I giggle quietly, the absurdity of it all catching up with me.
God, how much did we drink last night?
As we approach James’s office, I catch Nathan’s eye, and he shoots me a look that says “what the hell are you laughing at?” But as soon as we step into James’s office, the laughter dies in my throat. He’s sitting behind a massive desk, and the air in the room feels like it’s dropped ten degrees.
James looks up from his screen, his eyes narrowing as he takes us in. The silence stretches on, thick and uncomfortable, and I can’t help but fidget. I smooth my hands over my pants, trying to ignore the way his gaze feels like it’s cutting right through me.
Finally he breaks the silence. “Do you think it’s appropriate to turn up to work intoxicated and disheveled?”
“No, sir,” we answer in unison, and the ridiculousness of it hits me again. I bite back a giggle, but it’s no use. Once the laughter starts, there’s no stopping it. Nathan and I are soon bent over, tears streaming down our faces.
James waits, his expression unreadable, as we try—and fail—to pull ourselves together. It feels like an eternity before our laughter finally dies down, leaving us both wiping at our eyes, trying to compose ourselves.
“Consider this your first warning,” he says coolly. “I’ll be notifying HR to issue your official written warnings today. Nathan, you’re excused. I need a word with Ms. Rossi.”
A small, satisfied smile lifts the corner of my mouth when I hear him say, “Ms.” One point to me.
Nathan gives me a sympathetic look, mouthing Good luck before hightailing it out of there, leaving me alone with Mr. Grumpy Pants.
The atmosphere in the room shifts the moment the door closes. James settles back in his chair, his thumb tracing his lower lip as he studies me in a way that makes my skin tingle. There’s a new intensity in his eyes.
“This is going to be easier than I thought,” he says, his tone almost mocking. “You’ve already earned yourself a warning, and it’s only your second day. Two more strikes, and you’re out. I have to say, I expected more of a challenge. Frankly, I’m disappointed.”
“Admittedly, this isn’t a great first impression,” I start, raising my hands in a gesture of surrender. His eyebrows arch in response. “Okay, second impression,” I amend, rolling my eyes.
Damn it, how could I have forgotten about taking his money?
“Don’t roll your eyes at me,” he snaps.
“Why, what are you going to do about it?” I retort before I can stop myself. Liquid courage must still be clouding my judgment, because the next words out of my mouth are nothing short of reckless. “Flip me over your knee and spank me?”
His eyes darken, and a slow, dangerous smile spreads across his face. “Careful, my sweet slut, you’re treading on dangerous territory.”
Hearing that name in this setting does things to me—wicked things I don’t want to admit. My body reacts to his words, my breath hitching as my nipples tighten to hard peaks. I hate how easily he can affect me.
James rises from his chair, his movements slow and deliberate as he rounds the desk. He stops in front of me, his hand lifting to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over my skin.
“Cora,” he murmurs, his voice softer now. “I’m assuming you’re still drunk and therefore not entirely in control of what you’re saying. So, let me make the situation clear for you. You have exactly one week to put together a strategy to improve company culture. If you don’t deliver, you’ll receive your second warning. Am I clear?”
His thumb continues to brush over my cheek, the gentleness of the gesture contrasting sharply with the threat he’s just laid down. The proximity of him, the warmth of his hand, makes it hard to think straight.
I nod, the motion stiff and jerky.
“Good.” His eyes hold mine for a moment longer, searching, before he steps back, the sudden absence of his touch leaving me cold. “Go home and come back tomorrow when you’ve sobered up.”
I pull away, hating how much I miss his touch the moment it’s gone. Without another word, I turn on my heel and head for the door, my shaky legs betraying me as I try to make a dignified exit. I can feel his eyes burning into my back, but I don’t dare turn around.
As soon as I’m out of his office, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. My head is still swimming from both the booze and his touch, and it takes everything in me to walk steadily to my desk. I gather my purse, avoiding eye contact with anyone, and make a beeline for the exit.
Christ, we’re idiots.
I can’t believe Nathan and I thought we could pull off a day at work while still drunk. I groan inwardly at our stupidity, vowing to make better decisions from now on—especially where Mr. Sexy Grumpy Pants is concerned.
Stepping into the thick morning air, I fight back the rising bile. I need to get home and sleep this off, but more than that, I need to figure out how the hell I’m going to survive this job.
One week. I’ve got one week to prove myself.
The thought of James’s ultimatum sends anxiety surging through me like an icy current. I’ve never felt so out of my depth. But there’s no way I’m going to let him win. I refuse to be the weak link he expects me to be.
My phone buzzes in my pocket as I start walking to the train station. Pulling it out, I see a message from Nathan.
Nathan
Survived?
A small smile tugs at my lips as I type back a quick reply.
Barely. But I’m on my way home to sleep it off.
Nathan
Same. Let’s not do that again anytime soon.
Agreed.
I slide my phone back into my pocket and let out a deep sigh. Today was a disaster, but it’s over now. Tomorrow is a new day, and I’ll be damned if I don’t walk into that office ready to fight for my place. No matter what it takes.
At home, I drop my purse on the kitchen counter and head straight for my bedroom, stripping off my clothes and collapsing onto the bed. My head is still pounding, but at least now I can close my eyes and let sleep take me. Before I drift off, one last thought crosses my mind.
I need to stop thinking about him.
But even as I make that vow, I know it’s useless. He’s already under my skin, and there’s no escaping him now.